Suspended truce
by arctickitties
Summary: After a tragic break up with Kyle, Kenny took off from South Park for eight years. When he finally returns, hopeful to face the ghosts he left behind, his friends have moved on in the most bizarre way possible. But Kenny isn't ready to give up on Kyle just yet. Stylennyman, if that's even a thing. Mostly Kyman and K2.
1. Old habits die hard

Stan Marsh had become a man of regimented habits. So every Friday at five p.m. he would drive his hybrid truck to the town and buy the week's groceries, which usually resumed to anything that he couldn't plant in his garden at home. Stan had developed this habit in particular after getting married, more influenced by Sally's pressing than by his own will. She listed everything that was missing at home, wrote it down and left it on the fridge every Friday morning so he wouldn't forget to take it when he left for work. At that time, Stan still worked in the human resources sector of a soul-eating company, a job he hated with all his strength, which he had left two years ago, finally deciding to do something that would contribute to a great cause. That's how Stan became a communications analyst for a non-profit institution that protected animal rights. Sally was completely supportive of his decision, because that was her job as his wife and she always fulfilled her role very well.

The whole point is: Stan's schedule wasn't the same anymore and, instead of returning from work, those days he was already home at five p.m. of every Friday. But he didn't break the ritual of going to the store with his wife's shopping list weekly. Same day, same time. He had developed a certain taste for those lonely moments he spent choosing a chocolate bar that Sally liked – even though she never wrote "chocolate" on her list – and any soy milk that was on sale. Money was shorter, but they had enough to live decently. He liked to go to the supermarket by himself due to the simple mathematical calculation that Sally would always grab a cart when she entered the store, while Stan always grabbed a basket, two at the most, if they were throwing a party or something.

Stan wasn't thinking of all the reasons that could have prevented him from passing through the Canned Goods aisle at that exact moment. He was completely oblivious to the million factors that could've avoided him from stepping into that grocery aisle at 5:25 p.m. For example: if Sally hadn't felt like eating cake, she wouldn't had written "condensed milk" on her list, which was the only canned item he needed. If Stan had decided to take a shower before going to the grocery store, like he thought of doing, then he would have gotten into the supermarket around 5:30 p.m., twenty minutes later than he actually got there, and he wouldn't be stepping in the Canned Goods aisle around 5:25 p.m. because he would have gone to the Bread & Baked Goods first, so he wouldn't have been there exactly when Kenny McCormick was taking a can of beans off the shelf.

But there he was. It's funny how the universe works sometimes.

They could have never met in that corridor if any slightest little detail had been different.

Stan had no doubt about who that blond man was. It didn't matter that he looked so much older and his hair was a mess covering half of his face. It didn't matter. The encounter happened at the corner of the Canned aisle, they almost bumped into each other. The key word being _almost_: he was only a couple of inches away from Kenny, but hadn't touched him. That's how close Stan was. Too close not to recognize a childhood best friend.

Even one who was eight years older than Stan remembered.

His dirty blond hair seemed longer, a cut so uneven that could have been homemade. It probably was, knowing Kenny. His hair fell over his eyes, which were as blue as two pools shining under the sunlight, and Kenny shook his hair to get the strands of hair off his ridiculously gorgeous eyes as he looked for the price in the can of beans. He was wearing a grey sweatshirt too big for his size, with two huge blue numbers printed in the front, although Stan couldn't see them properly because Kenny was sideways scanning the can. He hadn't noticed Stan's presence yet.

Well, that's not entirely true. He did feel there was a presence very close to him, strangely close, but he was too distracted to turn and face whoever it was. Stan didn't know what to do about it. Maybe it wasn't too late to step back and leave unnoticed, if he did it really quietly and pretended that encounter had never happened. Not that he was actually considering the possibility; especially because, deep inside, the corners of his lips felt like opening a big smile the moment he laid eyes on Kenny. But he didn't smile. His brain hadn't had the time to process that the figure right in front of him was real.

Stan stepped forward to get awkwardly closer. He raised his pale hand so that his long fingers would cross in front of the blond man's face, pointing the yellow little plaque on the shelf, tapping it with his index finger.

"$3,29. Huh. I never got why they don't just charge it $3,30 and get it over with." He said with the most casual tone he could use, offering a shy smile as Kenny turned to face him suspiciously, as if he didn't understand why (and didn't appreciate the fact that) a strange man would be bitching about the prices to him at the supermarket.

Kenny was already separating his lips to say something nasty when his eyes met the brunet's face, so familiar to him, and the surprise took over his countenance. He leaned back a little bit in shock, laughing out loud with his eyes widen in disbelief.

"Marsh?!" Kenny asked with the largest smile Stan had ever seen in a human being, wide enough for him to notice that there was a tooth missing in the back of Kenny's mouth, but who the hell cared?

Especially given the inviting way the blond opened his arms, making Stan feel like a fool for being afraid of his reaction. After all, eight years was more than enough time to get over any trivial conflict from your twenties, wasn't it? That's what he felt when Kenny's strong arms involved his torso in a warm hug, with two firm taps on the back, supporting his chin on Stan's shoulder for a moment, speaking loudly to his ear:

"Man, I've missed you."

Stan had missed him too. He couldn't say it out loud, but he smiled with his mouth closed and corresponded to the short hug, tapping Kenny on the back too in retribution before the blond pulled away to drop the can of beans in the wrong place on the shelf. The hug was followed by a very long moment of silence, but not long enough to be awkward, filled with shy laughs from both men as a woman pulled her shopping cart with a child inside, right beside them, ascertaining the options of tomato sauce.

"My god, Ken…" Stan let out the mesmerized sound under a heavy breath, accommodating the basket on his arm while his other hand gesticulated in an incredulous sign, giving the other man a long analytic stare with a nervous laugh before finally convincing himself: Kenny was real. "When did you get back?"

Kenny pressed his tongue inside his cheek as he gave it a thought, smiling when he realized he didn't know the answer to that, scratching his head.

"Huh… A week or so, maybe. I don't know. It might have been ten days for all I know."

"Wow. But… You're here to visit?"

"Yeah, no, I came for a funeral."

Stan raised his eyebrows, parting his lips without knowing what he should (or would like to) say to that. The daughter of the tomato sauce lady started to complain to her doll, breaking the silence that started to take place between them once again. The dark haired man recovered as fast as he could, massaging the nape of the neck.

"Oh, Kenny, I'm so sorry, man. Was it someone in the family?"

"Yeah, an aunt. You don't have to make that face, she was a junky, I can't even remember what she looked like. I came for my sister, you know, figured it was time to pay a visit."

"And how long are you staying?"

Kenny's fingers went back to his head, scratching his scalp more loudly this time, giving the impression that he was doing it unconsciously out of pure jitters. Stan could identify himself with this feeling, watching as the blond narrowed his eyes and shrugged carelessly to him.

"A while."

It didn't fail to amaze Stan how, after so many years, in a few moments of talk he could already see lots of traces of the old Kenny; traces that he had carried since he was a child. The lack of attention, of time notion, the unspecific way he answered to the questions he was asked, like he hadn't made any plans and wasn't even worried about it. Stan smiled as he observed this thirty years old man scratching his head like a young guy he had known so long ago, and only then he realized just how badly he had missed Kenny; So much more than he had allowed himself to notice for the past eight years. He didn't think of Kenny too often, but there was no way he could ever forget about him. Because they were friends. When Kenny left, as bad as things had gotten between them, they were still friends. They loved each other like two brothers, and it was so pure and so different from when you feel passion for someone. They both understood very well how it worked.

Nodding in affirmation, Stan's eyes met the basket that the other man was carrying, nearly empty, if not for cans of beer and instant food. Suddenly, the brunet found himself frowning in worry.

"Are you staying at your parent's house?"

"Huh… No, actually I've been crashing at Karen's. She's married already, can you believe it?"

"Yes, I've heard." He replied with a soft smile, with an expression that gave away how silly the question was. But he didn't blame the blond for forgetting how things worked in a small town, giving all the places Kenny had probably visited and lived in this great world.

"Of course you have. Nothing ever happens in this shithole town that the whole population doesn't end up knowing."

Laughing, he concluded the obvious:

"So I guess you have no intention of moving back, right?"

He could see how Kenny ran his tongue through his front teeth, something he always did when he got nervous. Which made him consider his question more carefully than the first time, switching the basket from one arm to another like this would buy him some time.

"Who knows. It's not like I have a set place to get back to anyway."

When silence fell over them again, Stan was already taking a deep breath and preparing himself to ask the question that echoed inside his skull from the moments he laid eyes on Kenny holding that can of beans. It wouldn't be pleasant, of course, but it was the kind of situation in which ignoring the elephant in the room would only make it bigger. He had to bring the subject up, even if he already knew the answer.

And he did.

"Listen, Kenny… I know this is a little weird, but I have to ask: does Kyle know you're back?"

"Hum?" He replied distractedly, alternating his gaze between Stan and the canned beans, as if he hadn't heard him right. But of course he had. And that's what made the dark haired man regret of mentioning the forbidden name. Because it so clearly still ached inside Kenny's chest.

There was nothing rational about feeling guilty for something he hadn't done, but Stan still couldn't shake out that heavy weight over his shoulders when his eyes met Kenny's blue ones that reflected all the sorrow he carried inside. Stan didn't know exactly what that sorrow meant. It all had happened so long ago that it felt like a dream by now.

"Does Kyle know you're in South Park?" He slowly repeated.

Grabbing one of the cans and throwing it in his basket without checking for the price (which gave away his apprehension) Kenny let escape an almost devious laugh, shaking his head in disbelief.

"What, you're not his super bff anymore to ask me that? Of course he doesn't know. You'd know if he did." And, with a deep sigh, turning his body to face Stan and stepping forward to be closer to him, he proceeded with surlier voice. "And I'd _really_ appreciate if you didn't tell him. I know there is a good chance he'd find out through osmosis just by looking at you, but if you can avoid it…"

It was slightly intriguing how there was no doubt or hesitation in his tone whatsoever when he asked "_You're not his super bff anymore_?" He didn't ask this with bitterness, he asked as if it was completely obvious, because Kenny knew perfectly well that Stan and Kyle had this thing that was for a lifetime and a little bit more. They survived the hurricane that Kenny had caused before he left and they'd survive anything that came afterwards. "Super bff" might not have been the most accurate description, at least it wasn't anymore, not like when they were ten. But the whole spirit of their relationship would never change. Everyone knew that.

Stan had been the one to look after Kyle, taking care of him every single night that he allowed himself to be taken care of (which wasn't all that common, except when he drank) after the giant tear Kenny had left behind when he took off. He'd nearly ruined Kyle for good, but he knew Stan would clean his mess and keep Kyle from being sucked into the black hole of his own suffering. And that's precisely what he had done.

Kenny left because he knew Stan would be there, knew that he would give everything he had and even what he didn't have for Kyle. Always has, always will. Just like Kyle would do the same for him. How on earth could Kenny compete with something like that?

Staring into those big and sinfully blue eyes, Stan couldn't help but see all those nights he had spent in hell trying to get Kyle to stop crying for a second and eat something. That dark little spot Stan had carried inside of him all those years, with which he was so used to by this point, was the only thing that didn't allow him to feel completely happy for seeing Kenny again.

"I can't lie to him, man."

"I'm not asking you to lie. Just… Stay out of it."

Kenny's tone wasn't accusatory or even rough anymore; it was soft and easy. He was asking for a favor. But still, Stan couldn't feel comfortable and felt like ending that conversation right there before it got any worse. He wished he could just pretend that nothing had ever happened.

Unfortunately for Stan, it was a little late for that.

Not getting any reply, Kenny continued:

"Look, I picked up the phone to call him at least twenty times since I got here, alright? It's not that I don't wanna talk to him. I know I have to. But c'mon, can you really blame me for having a little cold feet on this? He's a fucking time bomb, I didn't know if I was ready to deal with all the drama yet. I just… Want to do this on my time, okay?"

"Okay." He finally responded, raising his hand in a gesture that said 'you can stop now', keeping his tone low. "I won't say anything."

The blond sighed intensely, not in relief, but in remorse. He took his hand to his forehead, rubbing his temples and pushing his hair away from his eyes, running his long fingers through his golden locks, biting his bottom lip. He couldn't bring himself to face Stan as he asked:

"Does he still hate me?"

"No, Ken. Jesus, he doesn't hate you." Stan said in characteristic emphatic tone, but keeping it firm enough so that the blond believed him. There was even some sweetness somewhere in his voice.

It was hard to state something so strongly when, deep inside, he had no idea if it was true or not. Kyle hadn't spoken about it in years, and even if it was true, Kenny wouldn't believe him.

Because, still deep inside, Stan agreed to what the blond was saying. He really wished he could raise his hand and deny it, tell him that he didn't know the Kyle of today, the man he had become, since they were all in their thirties now and things had changed dramatically. He wished he could tell Kenny that the heated redhead he had once known didn't exist anymore and that Kyle wouldn't hold grudge of him for so many years. But to be completely honest, from the bottom of his heart, what guarantee did Stan have that Kyle didn't hate Kenny anymore? He was, indeed, a time bomb, since he was a child.

In fact, that was part of the reason why he was so easy to fall in love with: he was so passionate. And intelligent, of course, he had this impeccable logical reasoning and a fantastic good sense, but only to the things that didn't apply to his own life. It was extraordinary how Kenny was so sure of all those things, even after all that time.

"Listen, Stan…" His blue eyes gave away so much more than his mouth was willing to say, so he simply grumbled. "Thank you."

"Why don't you…" He started to say before realizing that he was actually saying it, which also had become a habit of his. "Come and have dinner this week? My wife does the most amazing meatloaf. Well, except that she doesn't actually put meat on it, because… We're vegetarians, so it's soy meat, but you'll never know the difference." He finished with an apologetic smile.

Kenny frowned in an almost theatrical way. He didn't know for sure if it was because of the wife part or the soy meat part, which sounded completely disgusting to him, but questioning that would sound a little rude after the new information that Stan Marsh was now a married man.

"Wow, Marh, you dog." He said with a bright charming smile, that even Stan knew so well, shaking his head to pull away the stubborn locks of hair that insisted on falling over his eyes. He was in desperate need of a haircut. "You got married? That's fucking awesome, congratulations!"

Stan ran his head on top of his head, messing his own dark hair in a shy way, laughing quietly as Kenny slapped him playfully in the arm.

"I always knew you'd live the whole dream of the cute house with the white fence, a dog, kids… Don't tell me you're a dad."

He replied simply shaking his head negatively.

"Oh well." Kenny mumbled, keeping that amazed beautiful smile on his face. "We have so much to catch on, I guess. Sure, I'll love to have your wife's fake meatloaf sometime."

When Stan suggested that they exchanged phone numbers, he wasn't all that surprised to hear that Kenny didn't have a cell phone anymore. It didn't match his whole persona or the lifestyle he seemed to have adopted. It was intriguing, to say the least. But the blond took a pen out of his pocket – which was even more intriguing – rolled his sleeve up and wrote Stan's number on his own arm, assuring that he would call him. He didn't mention any phone number in which Stan would be able to reach him, something that made the brunet slightly suspicious, but he kept his mouth shut.

A part of him was also waiting for Kenny to ask him if Kyle had changed his cell phone number, which he hadn't, but the question never came.

They exchanged a brief hug, much more impersonal than the first one, and Kenny said his goodbyes tipping an imaginary hat in salute, making Stan genuinely laugh.

He had truly missed the blond.

And during the next few days, every time Stan's cell rang, his expectations never went to Kenny McCormick. No, he wasn't expecting a call from the him. But he did expect, and quite anxiously, a call from Kyle. A very, very angry call. And it didn't take him long to receive it.


	2. Hallelujah

Kenny turned the water on before he took his clothes off. He wasn't yet used to Karen's gas heater. That crappy shower spouted water as soon as he turned the knob on, which always ended up with Kenny's sleeve soaking wet, no matter how fast he tried to pull his arm back. Since there was not much he could do about it, he simply grunted in dissatisfaction and carried on. He barely had what to dress in general, and that damn shower wetting all his clothes wasn't very helpful, but this kind of thing wasn't worth the stress. Karen's shower also took forever to heat up the water, which gave him enough time to undress while he waited. He could even do a strip tease if he wanted to, because it wasn't nice to be naked and waiting for the cold water to get hot, not in that weather. South Park was so freaking cold and he just wasn't used to it anymore.

Even before he stepped in the shower, his brain was already bringing back so many colors, smells and places that were far distant in time. Showering had this strange magic power over him: his mind wandered much further than it should when he entered the box. He closed his eyes as the hot water poured over his head, burning his scalp until he got used to its temperature while the rest of his body shivered in cold. Kenny shook his head and brought his hands to his face, running them up and letting his fingers slide through his soaked hair, sighing heavily. He closed his eyes shut and tightened his jaw, gritting his teeth in a desperate attempt to take his mind somewhere else.

But the human brain is an unscrupulous bitch.

So Kenny, trying to outsmart his brain, started to whistle the first song he could think of while he reached for the soap, grabbing it blindly, rubbing it between his greasy hands. He was despicably dirty and covered in car oil for helping Karen's husband: if that man depended on his mechanical skills to survive in this world, he would be totally fucked. Fortunately, he let Kenny intervene before he exploded his car's motor on his own face. Karen's man, Carl, was the kind of guy who doesn't like to ask for help. And he also didn't like his brother in law staying at his house. Kenny had a theory that every guy with a moustache was grumpy, so he lay in bed at night planning ways to shave Carl's facial hair without waking him up. Remembering his evil plans, a smile appeared on the blond man's lips and he suddenly stopped whistling.

Then he remembered where he knew the song from.

_Kyle enjoyed fucking to the sound of his favorite songs. Not all the time, it wasn't something that he particularly missed or complained about if there wasn't any music, but as often as he could, the redhead would steal Stan's music player from the living room and put it in his bedroom, on top of his freakishly organized dresser. He always chose something that, to Kenny (who knew nothing about music) sounded like a smoothed folk song, romanticized by the situation. He never found the time to ask Kyle who the singer was, because ripping off his clothes seemed infinitely more important._

_That night, Kenny was stretching under the light weight of Kyle's body; some red strands of hair softly brushed against the blond's lips, who opened a wide smile and kissed the top of Kyle's sweaty head, squeezing him in his arms until the smaller boy let out that sound he loved: a pleased and amused moan, filled by that goofy joy that came after an orgasm. Their legs were tangled together in a way that even they couldn't know where one began and the other one ended. Kenny didn't want to know that. They fell in a comfortable silence on the edge of sleep, their bodies dovetailed to each other under the warm blankets, Kyle's head resting over Kenny's chest that went up and down as he took heavy breaths, still recovering his air. His rude fingers caressed that soft milky skin, sliding up to his messed hair; messed from sex in the way Kenny adored. And he adored it even more because that was the only kind of situation in which Kyle allowed his hair to be wild like God had intended._

"_Baby I've been here before_

_I've seen this room and I've walked this floor_

_You know, I used to live alone before I knew you_

_And I've seen your flag on the marble arch_

_and love is not a victory march_

_it's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah"_

_The "hallelujah" calming mantra came along and echoed through the room, sang by a husky voice, very different (and more beautiful) than the version Kenny knew of that song. It was a Jeff Buckley's CD. Kyle used to joke that he would have married Jeff if he hadn't drowned, and Kenny was his rebound boyfriend. But Kenny didn't keep names. His index and middle fingers went up and down the little bones of Kyle's spine, caressing his back slowly as he stared at the ceiling, his blue eyes only half-opened._

"_Is this a Christian song? Does your mother know you hear this stuff?"_

_Kyle lifted his face to look at Kenny with his mouth half-open, a shocked expression on his face, and then threw his weight back on the mattress, laughing so hysterically loud that Stan would have woken up if he had been home that night. Kenny couldn't hold back his own laugh, but slapped the redhead's chest as if he was offended by his amusement, watching how Kyle's body fell to the side and twitched as he laughed, his pale skin contrasting beautifully with the dark sheets. That could have been the most wonderful sight Kenny had ever had in his life. That smile… If Kyle, who always looked huffy, had any idea what that smile could do to ordinary people…_

"_I mean it!" the blond continued, lying on his side and supporting his torso with his elbows, resting his cheek on his hand. "The Sheila Broflovski I know would lose her head if she knew that you, the precious little Jewish boy she raised with so much love, were listening to gospel music. She would rub a yiddisher kop in your face, tie you to a chair and force a bunch of kosher in your mouth until you learned what's best for you."_

_The way he pronounced those words was purposely gaudy, almost spitting, and Kyle only laughed harder when he heard Kenny using the two only Jewish expressions he knew._

"_Oh god, do you even know what 'yiddisher kop' means?!"_

"_Of course I do." Kenny straightened his torso to sit up with his legs opened, his flaccid cock quietly teasing Kyle, who tried to pay close attention to what he was about to say. The blond took one hand to cup the back of his head with his palm, continuing. "It's that tiny little hat you guys wear like this."_

_Kyle covered his wide smile with both hands, staring at Kenny with an incredulous look while shaking his hand negatively, rubbing his face with his palms._

"_That's a kippah, you moron!" He corrected as he tried to contain his laugh, peaking through the cracks of his fingers. "If my mother heard you talk like that, she'd have a heart attack for sure. How ignorant can you be__?__"_

_Kenny held the redhead wrists to pull his hands away from his face, firmly pressing them against the mattress over Kyle's head while he laid on top of his sweaty body, smirking and running the tip of his nose across his boyfriend's cheek, nibbling his jaw, kissing his soft skin with open lips, gently whispering:_

"_Oh, c'mon, baby. Don't call me ignorant. Say I'm a schmuck. It's so cute when you say it…"_

_Oh, yeah. The third Yiddish word Kenny knew._

_Not that Kyle actually spoke in Yiddish expressions, but Kenny seemed to find great pleasure in mocking him for the very few times Kyle had said some bad Jewish expressions out of anger. But all the ridicule didn't stop the redhead from smiling from ear to ear with those beautiful rosy lips that were still slightly swollen from all the previous aggressive kissing and the twenty minutes blowjob. Kenny loved to leave marks on his body in every way he could._

_The blond let go of his hands and started to tickle his belly, the most sensible spot of his body – at least when it came to tickling – squeezing it merciless, laughing and yelling at Kyle's face, demanding to be called a schmuck. He loved the way the redhead writhed his body under Kenny's weight, desperately trying to push him away with his legs, laughing so deliciously loud that the blond could fuck him again right then._

"_You're a schmuck! You are one big fat schmuck! Happy now?!"_

_And Kenny was._

_He laid half of his body over Kyle's, breathing heavily against his ear. The song had now changed to something else that the blond didn't know. Their fingers tangled to each other, combining like the sweat of their now uncovered bodies. It was almost too hot inside that room. Kenny's nose wandered around the redhead's little neck, a smile showing his teeth took over his lips so maliciously as he inhaled Kyle's sweet smell, resting his weight over him to cover his tiny figure in a protective manner. Kyle's hand slid up and down his wet back, slowly caressing his skin, the tip of his fingers gently touching the scar that Kenny had gained in a motorcycle accident. Kyle loved that scar, no matter how strange that sounded when he said it out loud. Kenny had plenty of scars, all very subtle, you wouldn't be able to see most if you weren't looking for them. Except that one on his back. That one was large and deep, the result of a broken piece of glass that should have pierced his lung, but miraculously didn't. Kenny was one lucky bastard and he knew it. Kyle loved that about him. And most of all, he loved how the blond wore his scars with pride, just like his tattoos: they were all part of his story, all the good parts and all the bad parts._

"_It's not a gospel song." The redhead whispered after a while, smashed under Kenny's weight, and the blond simply turned his face to mumble a sleepy "huh?" without paying much attention. "I said it's not a gospel song. I mean… It does have some biblical references, but it's about love. The sad side of love, I guess."_

_Kenny's answer was a proud smile as he rubbed his nose against Kyle's neck, keeping his eyes closed. His boy was so smart. At that very moment, he couldn't believe there was such a thing as sad side of love._

So Kenny turned the shower off. He had both of his hands pressed against the wall, supporting his weight, his head down, eyes closed, his whole body dripping water. And Kenny felt like an ass. It wasn't something that happened too often, because he was the most self-conscious man on earth. But when it happened, it was a train wreck.

He shook the excess of water off his hair like a dog did after a bath. Then he pulled a towel and tied it around his waist, dripping all over the bathroom floor as he stepped out of the box, kneeling down to get his dirty clothes, holding them under his arm. He was having an adrenaline rush and didn't want to waste it away. He left the bathroom and ran down the hall in his bedroom's direction, making the floorboards creak under his heavy steps in a horribly loud sound, but he just ignored it. He stopped in the middle of the corridor, in front of the little drawer table that accommodated the telephone. It was an old one, a classic grandma phone, but it served the job well. Kenny looked around, glancing at his bedroom's door, twitching his lips as the considered whether he should get dressed before or after he made the call.

"Damn it." He mumbled, shaking his head as he opened the drawer with his free hand, noticing a sock that fell out of the medley of dirty clothes he firmly carried under his arm. But there was no time to care about falling socks. He pulled out a black little phonebook and started to browse through all the noted numbers; his hair kept dripping water over the pages, staining it with big spots that wet the pen's ink. Kenny bit his bottom lip, reading the scrawls of names and numbers that had been considered important enough to be noted down. He could feel the knot of his towel slowly untying itself, so he pressed his legs against the table to hold it, dialing the number with one hand and holding the phone with his other one. His arm was occupied by the clothes, so he had to bend over to reach the keypad. "_Damn_ it." He repeated.

It rang once.

It rang twice.

It rang three times.

It felt like it had been enough time for Kenny to just give up. The universe worked in mysterious ways with him, because in the exact moment the thought of hanging up that phone crossed Kenny's brain, two simultaneous things happened:

The first was Carl opening his room's door and showing up in the hall with a cigarette pack and a raised eyebrow, encountering his already dislikable brother in law completely naked, with a loosen towel falling around his hips, soaking the floor, bending over a little desk while trying to make a call, nervously tapping his foot on the ground. Carl parted his lips to question the whole thing, not even sure if he wanted to know what was that all about, but he opened his mouth to speak in the exact moment Kenny heard a voice in the other end of the line saying:

"_Hello_."

So Kenny straightened up and waved his hand dramatically for Carl to just go on to whatever that he was about to do and stop staring at him, barely processing what had just happened. He had expected that hearing Kyle Broflovski's voice after so many years would be, to say the least, a historical event that would rip his heart out of his chest. But instead, a strong feeling of plainness took over him.

That was, until the moment he opened his mouth to reply.

And nothing came out.

"_Hello?_" Kyle repeated with an almost impatient tone. Kenny could hear running water and sounds of ware being put over marble, and he was already picturing that redhead man doing the dishes while holding the phone with his shoulder. It was a nice image.

"Fuck, how I missed your voice." The blond said in a low voice, more to himself than for Kyle to hear it. He wasn't thinking about it, it just came out. And now he had already said it and it was out there in the open: and Kyle had heard him quite well.

Kyle didn't know Karen's phone number, probably. Maybe there was still time to hang up and pretend nothing had ever happened.

The redhead went silent. Kenny couldn't tell how much time they had spent like this, saying nothing to each other while Kyle probably assumed he was some crazy maniac out of Scary Movie 5, waiting to grab him when he came out of the house. Kenny stuttered a little, wanting Kyle to know that he was still there, dropping his dirty laundry over the drawer table as he held the phone with his shoulder, like Kyle was probably doing too. The difference was that Kenny was now using both hands to tighten the knot of his towel before his butt was showing off.

"I'm sorry. It's…" He licked his lips. "It's Kenny."

"_I know who it is_."

His voice was quick, with no demonstration of any feeling at all. Not exactly cold either. So neutral that it was impossible to even picture his expression. He didn't seem shocked or angry, but that wasn't necessarily a good thing.

"Oh. Okay. I just… Thought you could have gotten confused." And he let out a nervous laugh, soon wishing he hadn't, shaking his head in a totally lost way, holding the phone back with his hand as his other one smoothed his wet hair. "But how many guys call you to say they miss your voice in the middle of the afternoon, right?"

"_Fewer than you'd think_."

Kenny sighed deeply. Then he scratched his nose and sighed one more time. Now he could get a clear view of the big picture: he was naked in the middle of his sister's hallway and her husband was probably downstairs by that moment complaining and asking when her psycho brother was going to leave them alone. And his only concern was his ex-boyfriend from eight years ago who probably didn't even want to talk to him in the first place. The big picture wasn't very pretty.

"Look, Kyle, I… Is this bad timing? Are you busy or something?"

The sound of running water had stopped, and so had the sound of dishes. Kenny could hear a second voice in the background, and Kyle replied something to that voice, but he'd had the good senses of muffling the phone with his hand so Kenny couldn't hear what they were saying. It was a man's voice. Soon enough, Kyle's attention was on the blond again.

"_No, I'm not busy_."

"Well, I'm in South Park."

The silence that followed was so long that Kenny thought he had actually quietly hung up on him. He called the redhead's name just to be sure.

"_Wait. You're back?_"

"Yeah. Funny thing, I ran into Stan in the supermarket the other day, so I was pretty sure he had already told you by now." And as soon as the words came out of his mouth, Kenny bitterly regretted them. He had no reason to give Stan's head on a silver platter like that, knowing perfectly well how much it would piss Kyle off. Stan knowing something like this and not telling his best friend about it… Well, he was pretty sure Kyle was going to yank someone's head off, in theory. Why the fuck had he mentioned Stan? Kenny closed his eyes and cursed a little bit, desperately thinking of a way he could use to contour the situation. "But I… I asked him not to tell you. I've been meaning to call you, but I didn't exactly know what to do."

"_And now you do?_"

"I think it's as simple as that: I'd like to see you."

"_See me__?_"

"Yeah. You think it would be weird?"

Kenny could have sworn he heard a smile on the other end of the line; a very subtle one indeed, but a smile nevertheless.

"_A little. But… I don't know, I guess we could. I have to…_" He hesitated for a moment, like he was about to say something but had suddenly decided to change the last words. "_I have to, Kenny. Can I get back to you in this number some other time?_"

Finally Kyle's voice had started to crack, and Kenny had no idea whether he should be glad or depressed about it. He swollen dry and politely agreed, soon listening to the sound of the switch hook. His voice was simply gone. Kenny believed that, after he had finally made that call, he would feel a huge weight being lifted off his shoulders. But it was the other way around. It was like the blond had a hundred pounds of bright new weight to carry around after he hung up the phone.

He took his clothes back under his arm and dragged himself to his bedroom, leaving his fallen sock behind. It was kind of funny if he thought about it. With all the dramatic situations he had ever faced in life that involved misery, tragedy, accidents, diseases and loss, Kenny had never wished so badly to just get dead drunk.

"Hallelujah my ass." He mumbled, closing the door behind him.


	3. With a little help from my friends

Stan pinched the bridge of his nose, staring at the absolute nothing as he held a glass of beer on his other hand, resting it over the bar's dusty counter. _Pirate Jenny_ played on the background, making that scene much more dramatic than it should be, raising the man's expectations. When Kenny called him and suggested that they met to have a drink, Stan was genuinely surprised. First of all, because he was pretty sure the blond would disappear after their encounter at the supermarket, since he used to be like a recluse forest animal when it was convenient for him. Even when they were best friends in their little group of four dirty inconsequent little boys, Kenny found a way to vanish for days when he felt like it. Stan was also surprise to hear his voice sound so… Broken. So different from the presumptuous and confident tone he always used.

But he didn't know Kenny anymore. So he shouldn't be so surprised.

Above anything else, he felt happy. Kenny was the kind of guy who could fill up a room when he walked in; there's no way of not noticing him, or of being indifferent to his presence. He had this loud and contagious laugh, this sharp humor, this sagacity, and a smile that lightened up the place. So smart, so keen. He was the one Stan always counted on, in their youth, to break the ice and not letting tension take over. He could make his friends forget about any problem. But he wasn't the kind of friend who you could run to if you needed advice, a shoulder to cry on. No, the blond wasn't good at that, so he wouldn't even try. He worked with pats on the back, distractions and illicit drugs to support his friends.

Man, he was a good friend. And Stan missed him so, so much.

The dark haired man was so deep into his own thoughts that the hand touching his back made him jump on his seat, scared to death. Kenny laughed with certain maliciousness while sitting next to Stan on the stool, supporting his elbows on the counter.

"Jesus, Stan, calm the shit down. I'm not gonna rape you."

He replied with a nervous laugh, running his fingers through his hair, lowering his head a little to take a deep breath. He was exhausted after a long day at work. After a few seconds of getting himself together, Stan turned his face to take a good look at the other man, raising a hand to tap him on the shoulder in greeting. Kenny's hair was wet and he wore a jacket that Stanley was sure he had seen before, when they were younger. It would be no surprise: Kenny was still as skinny as he used to be at the times they lived together, the three of them. Stan, Kenny and Kyle. He had always been skinny, even when he was a child, but everyone just assumed it was because he didn't eat as much as the others. Kenny's family had always been very, very poor. But at the times they shared the apartment, the blond ate more than Stan and Kyle together and he was still thin. He had the most accelerated metabolism in the universe. He did look much stronger than when they were young, though.

"So," Stan cleaned his throat, looking away from Kenny as he ordered a beer. "You wanted to talk?"

"Huh?" He responded absently, stretching his arm in front of Stan to reach for the little bowl of peanuts across the counter, grabbing a bunch of them and taking it to his mouth. He didn't even wait until he was done chewing to continue. "Oh, yeah. We need to talk."

The blond rubbed his hands together to clean the excess of bran off his palms, letting if fall on the wooden counter, getting a disapproving look from the waiter who brought his beer. But Kenny didn't even seem to notice. He simply went on saying:

"I did something stupid and reckless. And I'm starting to regret it. I need you to tell me I haven't screwed everything up."

"Okay…" Stan replied with mistrust, slowly taking his glass to his lips, carefully watching him. There was something so strange about this Kenny, and yet so familiar. He observed as the blond man took a long, anxious gulp of his drink, almost finishing his beer all at once, then put the glass back on the surface with a loud noise, shaking his head. Stan was starting to get worried. "What did you do, Kenny?"

By this point, he only prayed that there were no corpses involved.

"You know, I'm not putting you in the fucked up position of telling me anything he said. I'd never do that to you." Quickly, Kenny cleaned his mouth with the back of his hands, taking off the rest of beer that wetted his lips. Then, his index finger was pointing to Stan's face. "But I'm asking you this: be impartial when you give me an answer, Stan. Please."

He wasn't sure if he could promise that, but he nodded his head anyway. It was so weird. He hadn't seen Kenny in years, he hadn't even heard anything from him until a few days before, and for the last eight years, he hadn't even known where the hell Kenny was, if he was dead or alive. But the feeling was still intact: he was a friend. Still, how could he be impartial when it came to Kyle? He'd choose Kyle a million times over pretty much anyone in this world. The redhead always told him that Stan had a soft spot for underdogs, and that he couldn't resist a cur's face. He had to admit, that was an art which Kenny McCormick mastered; he was the perfect example of an underdog with nowhere to go.

"I'm so screwed, Stan. I thought I was over all this shit, but when I heard his voice…" The blond snorted and ran his fingers through his wet hair, leaning over the counter before taking the last sip of his beer. But he never let go of the glass. "It was like not a single fucking day had passed. What good did it do, leaving this shithole town anyway?"

Stan licked his lips.

"I don't know, Kenny. But you did well. By calling him, I mean."

"You think?"

"I do. It would have been worst if he'd found out any other way."

A moment of silence occurred, as both men kept their heads down and held on their glasses as if the drink could offer some comfort. The murmur of other people's talks filled the air, talks about all the problems and celebrations that drove people to bars in the middle of the week.

"How mad did he get for you not having told him?"

Stan had to laugh at the innocence of his question.

"Really mad."

"I'm so sorry, dude. I shouldn't have told him that we met, I knew he would go PMS all over you."

The raven haired offered him nothing more than a hand gesture, indicating that he shouldn't worry about it. Yes, Kyle had called him with a whole armory of bad words and a shrill voice he only used when he was losing his shit, but it was no big deal. Stan had seen it coming the second he promised Kenny he wouldn't say a word about their encounter.

After all, Stan and Kyle had remained best friends for nearly thirty years. Even now, when the concept itself of a "best friend" didn't make much sense to him as a grown man, there was no word to describe what he had preserved with Kyle Broflovski since he could remember. They could finish each other's sentences, foresee each other's reactions, depict what the other one was feeling when he, himself, couldn't. They had survived all kinds of life tests, all the experiences that naturally distance people who were once so close, and they never let it happen to them. They stuck together all the way through puberty, dating, family crisis, college, break ups, careers, hell, even marriage. The desperate calls of need in the middle of the night had never stopped, the intimacy had never changed, because Kyle and Stan were two parts of the same thing. No one could tell exactly what that thing was, but it was a recognized fact. What they had was rock solid and a little conflict over keeping information would never change that. So Stan wasn't worried about Kyle's anger towards him. He was much more worried about the reactions he could not anticipate, and that was the complex stuck on his head when he straightened his torso and drank his beer, keeping his eyes on Kenny.

"There's something I need to tell you." Stan said, after a long pause.

Kenny frowned.

"What?"

"Kyle has someone."

The recovery was incredibly fast, Stan had to give him that. But even though Kenny's expression hadn't changed, he could still get the glimpse of gloom inside the blond man's ridiculously blue eyes. He had weakened, even if for half a second. Not a single muscle on Kenny's face that betrayed him when he laughed it off, ever so casually, spying on Stanley through the locks of his hair that fell over his eyes.

"Stan. C'mon. I haven't seen the guy for eight years, do you seriously think I'd be hopping that he was available and waiting for me? I didn't come here thinking about getting back together. I only contacted him because we have a history, we used to be close friends, but that's all. I don't want anything else from him."

"I know, but…"

Kenny's hand gently grabbed his arm, interrupting him.

"Relax. I don't care. It's not as if I'm staying in South Park anyway."

"Kenny." And now his voice was steady and firm, so different from the low, calm tone Stan usually used. The change of intonation forced Kenny to narrow his eyes and look and him, with this curious shine in his blue iris. Stan took a breath before continuing. "It's Cartman."

The blond held a confused expression before letting go of his arm, turning around, scanning the place.

"Where?"

The whole scene was so bizarre that it took Stan a while to understand that he wasn't joking. Still, he couldn't help but let out a small laugh, shaking his head negatively, pinching the bridge of his nose again because it was an old habit when he got tense. The deep sigh he took soon told Kenny that there was something going on.

"Are you serious? Not here, you moron. Cartman's the guy Kyle's with."

Kenny was still looking away when he heard those words, so Stan couldn't have a precise notion of his facial expression, or how much Kenny was allowing it to show what he actually felt. Which must have been comforting for the blond, since he was a man and men didn't like to feel exposed. Their gazes soon met, Kenny with this slight frown and his lips half-open, studying Stan's countenance for a couple of seconds. The dark haired man jumped in scare for the second time that night, when Kenny's fist collided against the counter's surface, shaking the glasses on it.

"That fat fucker!"

A few people around then turned to stare at both men sitting on the stools, but they didn't pay attention. Stan had to laugh again for the way those words had come out, because there was barely any anger in them. It sounded like a kid's mumble. He didn't know exactly what to do when Kenny covered his face with his hands and lowered his head, hiding under his hair, grunting in frustration.

"God, I knew it. I knew that fat son of a whore had the hots for him, he always had."

"Ken… C'mon, man, think about it. Does it really change anything?"

He didn't answer immediately. First, he rubbed his eyes with his hands, then slid them down his face slowly, making his skin slightly reddish.

"No. It doesn't. But fucking hell, how did that happen?" Now he had finally turned his head to face Stan, confused as a child. Of course. That had been the natural reaction of every citizen of South Park when they found out. Not getting confused would have been the weirdest reaction.

"Actually, I guess it's partially my fault. It happened on the night of my wedding. They got really drunk at the party, you know. They had spent the whole night fighting about…" Then he made a pause. "Something. I don't know, they fight all the time. But then somehow they hooked up and, after six months of pure denial, they were a couple."

"But… Can this be? I mean, haven't Kyle's Jewish ancestors rose from their tombs and declared a war on his relationship with a neo-nazi? Isn't there a law against this sort of thing? It just… Doesn't make any sense."

Kenny's face was so dead serious as he spoke that it only made Stan laugh even harder than he already was. The blond's mouth, on the other hand, was a straight line. He didn't find it amusing. In fact, he looked too busy trying to figure some sense out of it. Stan reached a hand to grip his shoulder, petting it with a smile.

"Oh, I took a really long time to understand it. Damn, I don't even know if _they_ can understand it."

"How long have you been married?"

"Three years."

"They have been living in this blasphemy for three years?"

Stan confirmed with a nod, waving for the waiter to bring them two more beers. For some reason, he felt like Kenny needed a drink right now.

"Stan."

"Yeah?"

"Is Kyle happy with him?"

That was a good question. The man rubbed the nape of his neck in a nervous gesture, since he had never been able to find a good and clear answer to that same question. It was something he had asked himself for years. The only thing that he was absolutely sure of is that he could never be happy if he had the kind of relationship that Kyle and Cartman had, because it looked exhausting as exhausting could possibly be. It involved a lot of headache, it drained them both emotionally, and it was a crash between two completely different brains that nurtured this natural hate for each other. It was sick, obsessive. At least that's what it looked like from the outside. Stan had never meddled in because, to be perfectly honest, he was scared of what he could find if he poked around too much. It brought a side of Kyle that he couldn't understand, and that frightened him. But that wasn't all. Stan saw something else there. A fire. A passion that, even after three years of relationship, still looked like the kind of passion you only feel for the first few months after meeting someone new. Yes, it was insane. But they were obviously crazy about each other, like you should be crazy about someone with whom you want to spend the rest of your life with. So Stan came to believe that they had the essentials.

"Yeah, Ken. I think so."

There was no immediate reaction to his words. Kenny didn't reply to that, not even with his eyes. He wasn't hiding anything this time, he was just taking it all in. Soon enough, he was giving Stan a sad smile that made the dark haired man shiver a little.

The conversation extended for hours into the night. They changed to subject to lighter ones, things that didn't make Kenny's head throb. It felt nice. Stan told him how he had met his wife, about his job change and how their childhood friends were doing now. Kenny told him about the countries he had visited, how he lived without a steady job, moving around every few months, traveling through Europe in a train, then about his spiritual discoveries in Asia. He spent twenty minutes talking about his life on Himalaya, with sparkles in his eyes. The hours went by so fast that Stan hadn't even noticed it was 2 a.m. until Sally called his cell phone, worried about him. She interrupted a very important talk about soccer. Kenny was so drunk that he stumbled as soon as he tried to get off the stool to go to the bathroom. He growled that his sister's husband would make him sleep at the porch if he went home at that hour of the night, pissed drunk as he was. Stan offered his couch, and Kenny accepted it with a warm side hug.

The whole situation made them both remember – although none of them said it out loud – the night when Kenny showed up at Stan's door, on the apartment that he shared with Kyle, with a backpack and sad eyes, telling that his dad had thrown him out and he had nowhere to go.

Yet again, he had nowhere to go. Things would have turned out so differently between the three of them if that night hadn't occurred. And then, nearly ten years later, Kenny found himself crawling on Stan Marsh's sofa again, on the edge of his consciousness, feeling extremely grateful for having a friend like him.


	4. Is this the real life?

The redhead waited with his hands in the pockets of his jacket after ringing the doorbell, seeing his own breath hanging in the air. It was nearly eleven a.m., he had glanced at the clock just a few moments before. Damn, he hated waking up early. Kyle had been up since eight-thirty in the morning and the fact it was Saturday just made the whole situation even more unpleasant. The cold wasn't helping either. He had some time to look around, although he already knew that garden and that street very well; he could tell every detail by heart. Stan's house was his second home, after all. It was a nice neighborhood, people were always smiling and waving at each other. It was so suburban, ideal to raise a family. Kyle talked about moving to the country all the time, but Cartman laughed and told him to shut up. He knew it sounded ridiculous, so he didn't take offense.

Once the door was open, he offered a broad smile, saying cheerfully:

"Hey, man! May I...?"

"Shush. Keep your voice down." Stan whispered, leaning closer to him as he held the door open. He looked restless, almost disturbed. And it was perfectly clear that he had a hangover.

"Why, what is it?" The redhead replied in a normal tone. "Dude, what the hell happened to y-"

Kyle's voice was interrupted by an almost aggressive "shush!" from Stan, who took his index finger to his lips and gave him a disapproving look for not being able to follow a extremely simple instruction. The redhead didn't understand. When he opened his mouth to ask about it, his friend had entered the house again and did a hand signal for Kyle to follow him, something that the redhead did without further ado, while expressing his irritation with a slight frown on his forehead.

The explanation for the whole thing was brief and painfully accurate. Such explanation had blond hair and was currently sleeping on Stan's sofa, drooling.

Perhaps "slept" wasn't the proper term for that scene: Kenny was completely passed out. It was the first sight upon entering the house. The blond had his arms thrown over his head, covering his face with one of them, the other was stretched like a dead man's. One of the legs fallen off the couch, his mouth was open, a very low rumble of heavy sleep escaping from his lips. The wrinkled clothes were the same from the previous day, with a jacket – Kyle recognized it immediately, knowing it very well, since he had been the one who gave it to Kenny as a Christmas gift many years ago - thrown on the ground. Kenny was wearing only his jeans and a white shirt which had been slightly lifted in his sleep, showing his abdomen, exposing the slightly tanned skin. And he was still wearing his sneakers. The blond had remembered to take off his jacket, but not his shoes. Unbelievable.

Sally, Stan's wife, thought that her husband's friend might be feeling cold, especially since he wasn't used to South Park insane weather anymore. He'd have to be inhuman not to feel cold, even with the heating, but for some reason, Kenny wasn't even shivering. His body was pretty warm. She tried to cover him with a warm baby blue blanked three times, but the blond kicked it every single time, since he kept uncomfortably moving on the couch. He used to kick Kyle in his sleep all the time, the redhead remembered. Eventually, Sally gave up.

Giving the gaze directed from Kyle Broflovski to Stan Marh, the man who had been his best friend since he could remember, only one thing was absolutely certain: all his effort to keep the redhead's voice in a low tone would be completely useless if the two of them stayed in that room. Hurriedly, Stan closed the front door, leaving the biting cold outside, and signed with his head that they both went to the kitchen. He looked directly at his friend, who was already shaking his head in the Kyle-way of saying "I'm gonna kill you and eat the flesh from your bones". But even when they got to the kitchen, the redhead just rubbed his eyes with his hands, saying nothing. Stan asked if he wanted to drink something as he opened the fridge, trying to sound calm, but the effect was not as expected.

"What's he doing here? You guys are doing sleepovers now, what the fuck is this?"

"Kyle..."

Stan had that voice, a voice used only in special occasions, and annoying as it was, Kyle always thought of what a great father Stan would be when the time came. He already had the parental tone. The voice was so firm and yet so quiet, as if he was explaining something to a child or someone who doesn't have the same capacity of reasoning. It was a common tone that came in hand when Kyle was pissed off at him, the two already knew that dance by heart. They had been doing it for nearly thirty years.

"No, Stan!" He raised his index finger as if that could substantiate his argument. "Don't you even… Okay?! He has already begun to take advantage of you."

"Dude, we just went to a bar yesterday and we drank too much, the poor guy could barely walk on his own." Stan's tone remained annoyingly calm. "He's living with his sister, he would get in trouble if he went home like that. What did you expect? That I let the guy sleep on the street?"

"Oh, okay! So now you're happy hour buddies? Seriously?!"

"Kyle."

"What?"

Stan began to approach. This was another move that Kyle hated between them, when his friend came closer with those calm hands on his shoulders, holding him in place with a firm but caring grip, staring deep into his eyes, pleading only with his look that Kyle listened to what he was saying. An angry growl escaped from the back of the redhead's throat, who looked away to hear the first words. He already knew what Stan was about to say, but he let him speak anyway.

"It was a long time ago. I know he fucked you up. I was there, remember? I don't even know how I didn't beat the shit out of him at the time, God knows how much I wanted to." The sentence came with a shy laugh and Kyle had to press his lips together to keep from smiling. "But you know how he was. You _liked_ how he was. Man, we grew up together. All of us. Do you really still hate him for what he did?"

Then it came Stan's favorite moment from their arguments: the one when Kyle let out a heavy sigh, not looking at him, not saying anything back, internally admitting that maybe, just _maybe_, he had jumped to conclusions a bit too fast. Stan also felt like saying that it didn't make sense to hold a grudge on an old relationship when you're happy in a new relationship. At least that's how it worked with him. Once Stan fell in love with another girl - and he was always the guy with long courtships, who was never single - all the hatred and bitterness and rancor caused by the previous girl no longer made sense to him. But it would be a stupid choice of words, it could wake the beast inside of Kyle with more vigor than before.

"It was good to talk to him, man." Stan proceeded with caution. "I almost forgot how much fun he was. You were friends before the whole shit happened, you should give it a chance."

"Being his friend? Now you're pushing a little bit. And besides... Soon he will disappear again."

"I don't know."

"What?"

"I don't know if he'll disappear again. I mean… He doesn't know yet."

So far, Kyle had been facing the whole thing as a ghost from the past. Kenny was just a ghost that's all. Something that appeared, haunted, caused a tachycardia, but soon disappeared in the air like magic. The possibility that he did not disappear into the world again almost made the redhead's heart stop beating in his chest. He didn't feel well. He walked away from Stan's reach, pulled up a chair and sat down with both hands on his forehead, brushing the hair away from his eyes.

"He wants to come back? Like… Move back here?"

"Hey, I said no one knows. Calm down."

Stan had let the fridge open, so he turned back to it and took a jug of water, even though Kyle hadn't asked for it. He knew it might be useful.

"Holy shit. I haven't even told Cartman yet."

The dark haired man watched him carefully as he poured a glass of water, putting it next to his friend at the table, patting him on the back.

"He'll lose his shit." Kyle whispered with a very sad smile.

Although Stan didn't reply to that, he completely agreed with the statement. One thing was evident in Eric Cartman and Kyle Broflovski's twisted relationship. Nobody could argue that Cartman was a provider, he took care of all the redhead's needs and even though he was still a jerk who was constantly making anti-Semitic jokes towards his own boyfriend, it was pretty obvious to anyone who wanted to see that Cartman was madly, deeply, insanely in love with Kyle. He was good to him, Stan believed, but of all the characteristics that composed the unique personality of Eric Cartman, Stan thought that jealousy was the most latent and more worrisome. He was a controlling, possessive man. If anyone in this world hated Kenny McCormick more than Kyle himself, that someone was Eric Cartman.

When a moment of silence occurred, Sally appeared in the kitchen doorway. She was probably there for quite some time waiting for a suitable moment to get in. She was a charming girl, the one that Stan had gotten. She gave Kyle an affectionate hello and bent to kiss him on the cheek, briefly stroking his hair. The two, the best friend and the wife, got along surprisingly well, differently from all the other girlfriends that Stan had dated over the years. That most likely why Sally was the one chosen to marry. Because she accepted the simple fact that she would forever have to share her husband with his true soulmate: Kyle Broflovski. She never tried to fight him for that spot.

Kyle was invited to stay over for lunch while Sally put her apron to start preparing it. He flatly refused it, eager to get out of there before the unconscious blond in the living room came back to life. Nevertheless, he didn't live. He extended a conversation with the couple, helping Sally to chop vegetables while Stan drank black coffee, standing there leaning against the counter. He made the coffee stronger because he knew Kenny would need it when he woke up.

It was pass noon.

As a mummy rising from the tomb, Kenny heavily shuffled into the kitchen. One arm reached behind his head to scratch his back, his hair was so messy that barely his face could barely be seen behind his golden locks. His dizzy body was wobbling back and forth, his eyes were swollen and his prospect of life was extremely low. It wasn't a good day. He just wanted to find Stan, thank him for everything and get back to his sister's.

But he stopped at the door.

Kyle had his back to the door. Well, actually, it was a man taller than the Kyle he remembered, with a little extra weight, maybe, and dressed in fancier clothes. Although he had always dressed in that flawless way, wearing nice sweaters, buttoned shirts, pastel colors, clothes that Kenny's mother had always adored. She talked all the time about how fine and neat Kyle dressed. But this man who Kenny saw was dressed as one of those people who you can tell that had done something really important with their life. Something in that cream shirt's tailoring and the trim on his body, those perfectly ironed dark jeans, his posture… There was no need to see the man's face to know it was Kyle Broflovski. Not only because of his unmistakable curls, redder than ever, so well maintained, with that golden glow that shone when the sunlight came through the window and bathed part of his body, but especially because of his ass. Oh, Kenny wouldn't need to see anything else: that was definitely Kyle's ass.

Maybe the hangover had something to do with it, but suddenly, things around him seemed to move in slow motion from that point. He could feel Kyle's intoxicating scent, even though he was across the kitchen. When they were dating, the redhead liked to say that Kenny had a dog's snout instead of a nose. It was impossible to surprise or scare him because the blond had the absurd ability to feel his scent from afar; he always knew when Kyle was approaching without having to look. And it wasn't about the perfume he wore. It was the smell of his skin. That's how Kenny always knew it was him.

When Stan said something to the blond - he didn't actually hear the words, but saw his friend's lips moving - Kyle turned around with a huge kitchen knife in his hand and half a carrot in the other. Their eyes met.

Seeing him again was nothing like Kenny thought it would be.


	5. Is this just fantasy?

_If one were to seek in essence what had been the real reason of the break up between Kyle and Kenny, the blond had a theory. No, in fact, Kenny was sure he knew the exact moment of the beginning of the end. They were eight months into the relationship. And it was his nails. It was a hard thing to explain to the common viewer, but Kenny was absolutely sure it was his nails that started the whole problem. During the first six months, Kenny was totally oblivious to his own nails in contrast to Kyle's. He didn't think of such things didn't pay attention. It just wasn't a big deal. That is, until the day he fit his body behind the sleeping redhead, and how perfectly they fit together in bed after having sex until six in the morning. The sun had already invaded through the curtain's cracks, illuminating their room quite enough so that the two clasped hands were visible. Kyle loved spooning, especially giving South Park's freakishly cold weather. Kenny never complained about it; he was more than happy to lay behind that smooth body of his and feel Kyle's back pressed against his chest, the delicious smell of his hair close to the blond man's nose. God, and his hands..._

_Kyle's hands were so soft. Kenny's were rough, callused. Kyle's nails were perfectly manicured, all the same size, filed and hydrated, always very clean. Kenny's nails were brittle, stained, always in different sizes and very dirty underneath. His fingers were so rude in contrast, and as he observed his fingers entwined with Kyle's, the blond couldn't help but think that something was extremely wrong there._

_So it started with the nails. It didn't bother him enough to say something about it, they were just nails. But then came other things. Like the day that Kyle mentioned a dead French poet called Rimbaud and Kenny could have sworn he was talking about Rambo. When he told that to Kyle, the redhead laughed and patted on Kenny's face as one does with a child who just said something really stupid. It annoyed him. The way Kyle spoke with others about "the sociological impacts of the civilizing process constitute a relaxation of each individual's drives" and Kenny had absolutely no idea what that meant. The blond couldn't say he regretted the fact that he had never attended college. It just wasn't for him, he knew that and was okay with it. His family didn't have the money for it, anyway, but that hadn't been the only reason as many (Kyle included) thought. Kenny wasn't an academic person, he wasn't interested in getting a degree. And never before in his life he had thought that made him less of anything. But when Kyle had that sparkle in his eyes as he talked to someone about smart ass stuff, Kenny always wondered if maybe he and Kyle could have had a conversation like that someday, with those tricky words and all, if he had studied harder. The redhead never talked like that around him, not when Kenny was a part of the conversation. And that bothered Kenny more than he could ever say._

_And in the end, he was still living as an intruder in the apartment that his boyfriend shared Stan. He had nowhere else to go but didn't earn enough to pay his part of the rent, because it was an apartment high above Kenny's purchasing power. Though now he no longer slept on the couch, since he and Kyle started to get together, the room was still Kyle's. Not his. Not theirs. Kyle tried to make it seem like it was theirs, but that only made Kenny believe that the redhead actually took him as dumb. He would have to be severely stupid not to see the facts for what they were. Taking a good at it, really, what the fuck did he have to offer?_

_The inferiority complex wasn't strong enough for Kenny to even consider ending it all, because when he looked at those gorgeous green little eyes, all those ugly thoughts felt very small. Hey, he never had trouble with being an ignorant redneck and living at the expense of others, why should he start now that things were finally good? Honestly. But the inferiority complex was, indeed, enough to make him insecure; which was something that the blond had never experienced before, with anyone, in any relationship. Kenny was cocky, provocative and ridiculously sure of himself. Not that he had ever been truly committed with someone before Kyle; he didn't believe in the whole concept of "relationship" before. So the part of feeling diminished and insufficient was unbearable, especially when there were other guys around._

_Guys with clean fingernails. Guys who had money. Educated men, with a diploma, who knew who the hell was Arthur Rimbaud. In that particular night, the man in question was Craig Tucker. Yes, they studied together when they were kids. Yes, they eventually attended to the same parties and had the same friends. But Kenny never liked him, not really. Probably because Kenny was cheerful, funny, had a loud laugh and Craig Tucker, on the other hand, was never seen smiling for that matter. Happy people bothered Craig. Kenny thought of him as a selfish, rude, annoying little prick. And when the blond saw him with a drink in his hand, talking sweetly in his redhead's ear and smirk, gesturing with his free hand in a blasé and arrogant way, well, Kenny went quickly from "dislike" to "I'd put a hole in his head if I had the chance without even blinking." He was a little drunk, that's true, and perhaps that was the biggest problem._

_If you want the truth, he was drunk to the point where he'd only remember that night in flashes. The part which didn't remember, but people had narrated to him several times, was when he grabbed Craig by the collar and banged his body against the wall. Craig hit his head so hard that his body slid down the wall and fell to the ground disoriented, and this time Kenny was already on top of him, punching him hard until his fists were bleeding._

_The part which Kenny did remember, or at least what he remembered best, was the fight he had with Kyle in the front yard of Eric Cartman's house, while the party was still going on inside, despite the minor inconvenience of Clyde Donovan having to carry Craig to his car and get him to the hospital for a broken nose. Kyle's voice was squeaky and uncontrolled, screaming many profanities that Kenny didn't even know – which was odd, since he was very good at knowing curse words - accusing him of every evil on the planet. Kenny didn't say little, that much he knew. He vomited everything he had felt in the last two months, from the Jew's arrogance and superiority to how he was never good enough for him, but at least he was man enough to break the face of any guy who came on to Kyle._

_Stan came after them soon enough, as expected. Of course, how could he not? Stan was the most democratic person the blond had ever known. His voice was never accusatory. Politely, he asked Kenny to sleep in Cartman's place that night, when they passed the point where Kyle didn't even want to look in his face anymore. He remembered Kyle angrily saying that they would talk the next day, when Kenny was sober. And Stan took him home._

_Stan Marsh was completely, totally, absolutely in love with Kyle Broflovski at the time. But that's another story, a story to be told later on._

_The important thing is that the sight of Stanley passing his arm around his boyfriend's shoulder and putting him inside the car, whispering gentle words as Kyle tried to restrain himself, taking care of him... It was a lot worse than the punch Kenny had taken from Craig when the guy tried to defend himself. Infinitely worse._

_And that made the blond drag his ass back to the party and keep on drinking, ignoring the dirty looks and stares from some people around when they saw that blond man, panting and irritated, with injured wrists, drinking like a fish as if nothing had ever happened._

_And Kenny McCormick woke up the next day with the biggest headache of all history, a scratchy throat, wrists throbbing in pain and Bebe Stevens naked beside him in bed._

_Okay, maybe _that_ was the real exact moment when the relationship between Kenny and Kyle ended. But that would have never happened if Kyle's nails weren't so annoyingly perfect._

. . .

"Kyle." He was the first to break the silence in the kitchen.

The redhead dropped the knife almost immediately, wiping his hands on his jeans as he lowered his head slightly, unsure of what to do. Sally alternated her gaze between the two men standing in the middle of her kitchen, feeling the air get so tense that she could cut it with a blade. Then, the woman cast a careful look to her husband, who eagerly drank coffee, holding the mug with both hands.

"Stan, honey." She called. "Can you help me out with something there in the garden, please?"

The husband left the mug on the counter and watched his two friends, seeking if there was any sign of pleading in the eyes of any one of them. Maybe they didn't want to be left alone, Stan thought, but soon he realized that they didn't even seem to recognize the existence of other people at that moment, they could only see one another. Slowly, Stan nodded and headed for the door, accompanied by his wife.

The click of the door closing seemed to spark something inside Kyle, who gulped. He looked around briefly, then back at Kenny, studying him with a clear mind for a moment. He didn't want to move, but his legs were begging for him to get closer to the blond, as if his brain hadn't yet realized that he was real. Kyle sighed and walked forward.

"Kenny, I..."

The blue eyes widened a little more, still puffy from sleep, filled with curiosity and anticipation, although the rest of his facial expression didn't give away any information about what he was feeling. God, how blue Kenny's eyes were. And how his hair was golden dirty, honey color, something different from the rest of humanity. Kyle raised his chin a little more to face him, clearing his throat.

"I'm sorry if I was an asshole with you on the phone, I was really..." The redhead's voice failed, and he took a long and uncomfortable pause. "It's just… You scared me."

"Sorry."

Well. Eight years later and there they were: the first word that Kenny says, other than his name, is "sorry." That had been his last word too. Kyle didn't know exactly what he was apologizing for, if it was about the sudden phone call or for being there or for coming back. Maybe it was about his past mistake. Kyle didn't ask about it, he simply offered a gesture of comfort with his head.

"It's okay."

"Okay?"

Kyle hesitated. He knew that he was about to same something he wasn't sure of.

"Yes. It will be okay."

What Kyle expected to happen next was an awkward silence until one of the two decided to run out the door. Instead, Kenny began to move. And didn't stop. God, he was getting closer, walking through the kitchen. His arms were opening. He was too close. And suddenly, against everything that Kyle had expected, the blond wrapped his arms around the redhead's waist and held his body in a tight, suffocating embrace, leaving almost no air left on his lungs. Kyle's heart was pounding in his chest. Kenny's body was still warm, like he had just got out of bed. The smell of tobacco and cheap shampoo in his hair made Kyle's legs tremble. The force with which those arms - that seemed even stronger than when they were young – pressed his slim body against Kenny's made Kyle lower any defense that still stood between them. Finally, he raised his arms and wrapped the blond man's neck between them, laying his chin on his shoulder. Kenny's hot breath was so close, making him quiver in response.

"I missed you so much..." Kenny whispered with his mouth pressed against the side of the redhead's neck.

And so, as simply as the hug came, it was gone. Kenny released his torso and took a few steps back, holding a satisfied grin on his face.

Kyle had not yet captured that the moment slipped through his fingers and disappeared. And now they were no longer touching. Which didn't make any sense. It just did not make sense. The lack of Kenny's heat, of his hot breath touching his skin, those big hands pressed on his back… He had been made to feel those things and now they were all gone.

Sally and Stan, who should be peeking through the window for the right moment to go back inside – and Stan was probably worried that he would have to intervene, since he had left two unpredictable people with lots of feelings alone in a room full of knifes - opened the kitchen door as if nothing had happened. The woman removed her apron, finally hanging it behind the door, then went to the cabinet, grabbing the dishes to serve the table. Sally was great at smoothing the mode with a smile and a casual whistle.

"You boys are staying for lunch, right?"

"No." Kenny answered quickly. "I need to go. My sister must be worried. Thanks so much for letting me spend the night." He approached Sally with that smile, gallant as a teenager, ran his hand down her back and said in a gentler tone. "It was a pleasure, ma'am Stan Marsh. Thanks a lot for the blanket." And then pecked her on the cheek, causing her to giggle a little.

To Stan and Kyle, he just gave an awkward nod, refusing when Stan wanted to accompany him to the door. And practically ran away.

"Dude." Stan said, running his hands through his hair, turning around to look at Kyle, who seemed just as lost as he was. "Are you okay? What happened?"

There was a twinkle in Kyle's green eyes that was not there before, Stan was sure of it. He knew those eyes. That twinkle hadn't been there for eight years, to be exact. Stan licked his lips, feeling a little uneasy when Kyle replied:

"I... I don't know."


	6. The four musketeers interlude

_I had been Eric Cartman who found out first. It didn't take a detective to understand it, since Kenny and Bebe were completely naked in the guest room of Eric's, who only discovered their existence in the morning after the party. Kenny could remember so well of the despair he felt and the sound of his own heart beating fast, pounding in his ears while confusing flashes of the previous night ran through his brain. He could remember, above all, the smell of whorish perfume in the sheets and Cartman's eyes when he found them. Light brown eyes piercing Kenny's soul, setting shivers down his spine, causing him actual fear, but that didn't stop him from trying to plead that his friend didn't say a word about it to anyone. Partially, the blond really believed it could work. After all, giving the proximity of a lifetime between Kyle and Stan, Kenny and Cartman inevitably created a bond that the other two would never understand. They recognized each other in their own filth and had mutual respect, each within their distorted sense of morality. It was almost funny when he thought about it, because Kenny didn't think he actually liked Cartman as a person, ever since they were children, and yet that never stopped him from caring deeply about the bastard. But this time, Cartman wasn't willing to comply._

_Both his eyes and his voice were extremely cold as he ordered Bebe and Kenny to get the fuck out of his house. He didn't even sound angry, but that could be because he always sounded angry, no matter what he was feeling. So Kenny was just used to it. Despite the throbbing headache and dizziness at that moment, Kenny could remember very well - even years later – of Cartman's words: "I want you fucking blonde sluts out of here right now." His tone came almost emotionless, like he was completely indifferent about what they had done. Bebe didn't stay there to discuss, that smart bitch. Kenny also didn't linger much when Cartman ignored all his justifications and excuses, not even bothering to look the blond in the eyes. He didn't even question the fact that he had just been called a "blonde slut", because honestly, that's how he felt when he left that house._

_He threw up on the sidewalk after taking only a few steps, squatting on the curb with one arm wrapped around his abdomen, the other hand supporting his body so that he didn't fall with his face on his own vomit. Maybe he deserved it. The taste was bitter in his mouth, his arms were limp, his eyes blazed. And Kenny had to go home._

_But he didn't want to go. Because even though he had uselessly begged that Cartman didn't tell anyone about it, Kenny was absolutely sure that, at the exact moment that his eyes met Kyle's, he would tell the truth. He wasn't much of an ethical person, but there was no way he would be able to just live with it, mostly because Kyle was one of his best friends, if not the best. You don't do that to a friend. Kenny hadn't experienced true love much often during life. He wasn't so sure about the love he felt for his parents, despite having respect for them, knowing they had done best they could. He absolutely didn't love his older brother, although he liked him a lot and they had fun together because they were so much alike. But that bothered Kenny, because Kevin was an ugly human being at the end of the day. He didn't have that many other relatives for whom one could have felt the genuine and unconditional love of a child. But when Kenny McCormick experienced true love, the pure and real love, not that crap everyone called love for some reason, he was simply incapable of intentionally causing them harm. He felt that for his younger sister, the feeling that he would rather die than hurting her. And he loved Kyle. In his own way, but he truly did. Damn, he really did. He loved him enough not to look inside those bright green eyes and pretend that nothing had happened._

_Everything happened very fast. Suddenly, he was on their apartment doorway and Kyle's arms were wrapped around his neck while the redhead apologized for having left the way he did, for having said those cruel things. Kenny didn't properly absorb his words, or accepted the kisses that Kyle planted on his cheek. He pulled his head away just enough to look into his huge eyes, seeing the subtle freckles that almost weren't visible on the pale skin of his cheekbones, painfully watching that expression... So hopeful, so true, so sure that everything would be fine. Kenny spent a lot of time memorizing that expression because he was absolutely certain that Kyle would never look at him the same way after he opened his mouth._

"_What is it?" The redhead asked after a long period of silence._

"_I slept with someone else."_

_He didn't know exactly how the words escaped from his mouth, but he had already foreseen this; that just when his lips parted, the truth would be spat on Kyle's face so bluntly and without torture. A clean cut. So straightforward that Kyle took a while to release him because his brain couldn't absorb that kind of information quickly._

_In the short version of the story, Kyle broke a wall clock, a lamp and a miniature horse that he and Stan had brought from Peru, a trip they made right after they had graduated from college. None of the flying objects hit the blonde, but that was only because Kyle wasn't actually aiming at him. He screamed loud enough to wake Stan up, who appeared in the living room only in his underwear, his face creased by the pillow and his hair all messy, with the simple mission to hold Kyle unquestioningly, not even bothering to ask what had happened. He just wanted to avoid that the redhead hurt himself. Maybe, deep down, he also wanted to avoid him to hurt Kenny, because the look on the blond man's face was so, so unhappy that Stan would always remember looking at him with pity. Stan wasn't a big guy, but he was the healthiest person Kenny had ever known; he exercised often and his legs were hard as a brick, since he jogged and played football every other day. Kenny always joked about Stan's strong legs. He had muscle, it was relatively easy to hold Kyle in his arms and whisper things that made the redhead calm down a little. Stan had a way with him. He knew how to handle Kyle better than his own mother. _

_Kenny asked that Stan let go of Kyle and went back to his room, amid his attempts of explaining something that even he couldn't understand. Naturally, his friend didn't obey it, but didn't argue about it either. Stan just squeezed the redhead tightly in his arms, as Kyle yelled every curse word he knew, some of which the other two had never even heard before. The redhead's vocabulary had always been much more omnibus than theirs, apparently even for offenses. But eventually, Kyle stopped struggling Stan's arms and started to cry, hiding his face in his best friend's neck. Stan's hand covered his head, almost like a father would do to a crying child, harshly staring at Kenny, who looked away and punched the wall, then leaned against it as if he couldn't breathe._

"_Please, just leave. You can get your stuff later." Stan said to the blond, almost as low as a whisper, as if he didn't want Kyle to hear him. Not that it made any sense, since Kyle's ear was extremely close to his mouth. Stan's hand slowly caressed his hair, holding Kyle's head against his naked chest. The apprehension on his face was eminent, because the dark haired man had no idea what Kenny had done and could see the hurt in his blue eyes. He didn't want to send Kenny away. But he had to._

_Unwilling to offer any more resistance, crushed by the way he was being looked at, Kenny obeyed what he was told. It felt almost like a relief, being told what to do when he had no fucking clue. As he left the apartment, Kenny ran into some curious neighbors at the corridor, frightened by all the screaming and shouting. And he bitterly asked, almost spitting in their faces:_

"_Don't you people have anything better to do? Jesus fucking Christ."_

_But telling Kyle hadn't even been the worst part. _

_Two days later, Stan sent him a text saying that he could go to the apartment whenever he wanted to pack his things - not that he had much to pack in the first place - because they weren't staying there for a few days. Obviously, he didn't tell Kenny where they were. More obviously still, Kyle didn't answer his phone, no matter how many times the blond called him. And the most obvious fact of all, after he had drank a lot of liquid courage: they were in Cartman's place. It all became clear; the four men had a relationship that only a few people could understand. When they were children, their friendship didn't have to be explained. They were just kids, so it didn't matter who they were, because they liked the same things and enjoyed playing together. Cartman and Kyle fighting weirdly was a normal part of it, they didn't think that their differences would result in breaking their bond eventually, like it would happen with most kids when they grew up. And it really didn't. There came to a point when Kenny felt like an outsider, because he didn't have what the others had. He was poor and he would always be. But the feeling passed when he realized that Kyle felt the same way for being Jewish and for loving all that nerd shit he loved. And Stan felt the same way for his passion for animals, nature and all the eco-friendly way he saw the world. And Cartman felt the same way simply because nobody is this world was like Cartman, which could be pretty fucking lonely sometimes. So they didn't have all that much in common to begin with. What kept them together over the years was very similar to the bond you have with a brother: it doesn't matter how you choose to live your life, there is a connection there is simply a part of you. So of course they were at Cartman's. It was a safe place. Cartman could mock and deride his pain all he wanted, and strangely that would make Kyle feel better, because Cartman knew what to do in a crisis, how to put things in perspective. He would always help, because they were family._

_Kenny checked his watch. It was eleven p.m. He had slept in his parents' house the night before, just because his father was too drunk to question anything when his mother took Kenny under her wing. He had the clothes he was wearing and nothing else. The next day, his father had kicked him out for the second time. Kenny was pondering about crashing at Kevin's place, but now he could go sleep in the apartment, since there was no one there. But not before paying a drunken night visit to the residence of Sir Eric Cartman first._

_Kenny followed all the rules of drunken visits etiquette: he shouted Kyle's name at the gate until some of the neighbors opened their windows and threatened to call the police; he shook a bottle of rum in his hand, shattering it on the sidewalk when he shouted back to that neighbor to stick a broom up his ass. Well, at least he thought it had been a broom, it could have been something else; Kenny didn't remember exactly what. The whole theater was enough to bring an extremely pissed off Eric to the front door. He was dressing a thick coat to go out in the cold night of South Park, a wrinkle between his eyebrows that never meant anything good._

_Unlike Stan, he was a big man. A really big man. All the teasing they had done to him during childhood for being fat had probably spurred him to something, because although he didn't seem to have lost much weight in pounds, his large physical structure could bear that weight very well. Cartman was taller than all of them. The time he had served in the army at eighteen made his abdomen and chest harden up like rocks. The arms were basically the size of the Kenny's thighs. It wasn't very difficult for Eric to lift him by the collar and punch him carelessly against the wall, huffing close to his face like a beast. Even though his vision was blurry and everything around was spinning, Kenny saw very well that pair of eyes boring into his own, just as they had when Cartman caught him in bed with Bebe._

"_Now you listen here, you blondie little shit, listen well 'cause I'll only say this once. We all knew you were going to fuck up at one time or another. The only one who was retarded enough to believe you was the stupid Jew, and now-" Cartman's big hands slammed him against the bricks once more before letting go of Kenny. "He finally knows the junk asshole you really are. One thing was when you cheated on your dumb bitches, we didn't give a fuck about that, but you won't shit on our friend. Get your poor drunk ass out of here, Kenny, or I swear to God I'll break every little rat bone in your body."_

"_No, Cartman... For fuck's sake, just let me talk to him. I need to. I need to see him, that… This can't..." Kenny placed his hand on the wall and tried to straighten up, maintaining balance for very little, frowning. "I love him, Cartman. I love him so fucking much. Please, just... Just let me talk to him."_

"_Don't give me that. It's too pathetic."_

"_You can't do that, Cartman, he..."_

"_Are you deaf or just retarded? I didn't tether him and hid him in the basement. He doesn't want to see you, man up and get over it."_

_The blond rubbed his forehead constantly. His gaze dropped to the ground while the larger man walked away from him, shaking his head as if he were a pitiful dog. Maybe taking pity would have bothered him - a lot - in other circumstances, but not with Eric, and not at that moment._

_There was a quite strange sense of compassion within Eric's arrogant look, as if, somehow, he understood. Kenny didn't give much importance to it at the time it all happened, nor in the following days, but looking back, he could be pretty sure that was the moment when everything became clearer. All the oppressive obsession, the insults, the mockery and (why not?) all of Cartman's hate regarding Kyle were restricted to moments like this, when Kyle was hurt and vulnerable, and Cartman carried in his face that expression of one who would give both arms and a kidney just to make the redhead stop suffering. Kenny had the impression that the rage with which he had been thrown against the wall and threatened represented much more than protection for a friend in need. A few years later, finally, came the realization that had been right under his nose wide open all the time: Eric Cartman never knew what it was like to be in Kenny's shoes. Holding Kyle in his arms, whispering obscenities in his ear, embrace him from behind while he did the dishes, smelling him, playing with him under the sheets after sex._

_Cartman had never had anything like that. At least so far._

_But Kenny had. And then Kenny blew it. What occurred to the blond was that Cartman couldn't understand how someone could be insane enough as to have Kyle for themselves and betray him with anyone else. And for that only, he was angry enough to punch Kenny so hard, so many times, until he vomited his own liver._

_Of course, none of this was verbalized that night. If you want the truth, none of the young men had even realized or understood it yet. The events of that night, from their perspective, had been what they had been, nothing else._

_Kenny gave up and went to the abandoned apartment to spend the night, lay in the bed that he had shared with Kyle for eight months and inhaled his delicious scent on the sheets for what he thought that would be the last time._

_And Cartman came home to find Stan kneeling on the bathroom floor, holding the red curls back as Kyle threw up and cried, hugging the toilet. Stan didn't say a thing, just whispered a soft and comforting "shush" and stroked his best friend's back. What Stan wanted more than anything in the world at that moment was to make promises about how the next day would be better, how things would turn out okay and he would feel so much better. He wished he could say those things and mean it. But he couldn't, because he knew there was a dark time coming and he couldn't protect Kyle from it. He had no intention of lying. So he just stood there with him._

"_Oh, fucking hell, are you serious? I swear, if there's a single drop of Jew vomit anywhere in my bathroom, I'll kick your asses out of here and the two of you can spend the night freezing with the hippie beggars. Goddamn it." Eric muttered when he stopped at the door, crossing his arms. "That's fucking disgusting."_

_Kyle sucked air through his mouth and sobbed, his eyes burning with tears, cold sweat running down his forehead, some rebellious strands of hair falling in front of his face despite of Stan's effort to hold them back. With a sharp breath and taking deep a sigh, not turning his face to look at Eric, Kyle whispered with groggy voice:_

"_Thank you, Cartman."_

_There was no sarcasm in words._


End file.
